


Wrong Target

by reigningqueenofwords



Series: Last Chance [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 12:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19701271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reigningqueenofwords/pseuds/reigningqueenofwords





	Wrong Target

Dean could hear you walking into the library, but kept his eyes on the screen. Everything was stressing him out, and it was just one thing after another. Hell, sometimes he couldn’t even figure out what was bothering him. Glancing at the burger, he quickly went back to work. “You use the mustard I like?” He asked. There were very few things in the bunker that didn’t wind up being shared- his mustard being one of them. After Sam had used the last of it, that was it.

“Yup!” You sounded happy about that, making the corner of his mouth move slightly.

Licking his lips, he went on. “Not bloody, right?” He liked his burgers medium-rare, not like he was a damn vampire again drinking blood.

He saw you shake your head from the corner of his eye. “No, I’ve gotten _pretty_ good at that. I’ve worked it out to timing it perfectly.” Dean had to admit, that was true. The first time you’d cooked him a burger, he wound up basically hosting a cooking lesson just for you. He thought it was cute how intently you listened to him. “Seasoned the burger with salt and pepper while it cooked, as well.” That he taught you by making two pieces of chicken. One seasoned, one not. You tasted both and it hit you what a difference it made.

Dean picked up his burger, his mouth watering, and took a bite. “Awe, come on.” He groaned, getting up to walk past you, chewing his bite quickly. “Barely any mustard, none of my damn pickles, and could have been cooked a couple minutes longer.” Honestly, he really didn’t care all that much, but with everything else- he blew it out of proportion.

* * *

Finally, he was able to just relax that night. He pulled on his sweat pants, flopped back on the bed, and got comfortable. His arm was over his face, and his hand was on his stomach. Dean heard you walk in, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want a repeat of earlier. A moment later he felt you straddle him, your hands on his chest. “Can I help you?” He asked without opening his eyes. Despite the fact that he was enjoying having you on him, it didn’t come out like he had intended, instantly making him feel like shit. Again.

“…I…” You sighed, moving off of him. “Nevermind.” Dean heard the pain in your voice, and it cut him like a knife. Swallowing, he rolled so that his back to you. The last thing he wanted was you feeling how tense he was, and worrying about him. You did that enough- naturally. Why would he willingly add to that?

* * *

He was currently trying to think of something to do for you, and nothing was coming to mind. It was pissing him off. You’d been with him through everything, and his mind was blanking on something to show you that he loved you. His phone dinged, catching his attention. Looking at the text, he smiled slightly.

_Air drying is the best ;)_

Licking his lips, he debated on going back there like he usually did. However, finding something for you was his goal right now. He was about to browse the internet for an idea. Surely there were other poor bastards out there that had gone through this. “Shit.” He breathed when he realized that he’d been staring at your picture for ten minutes. Quickly, he sent back heart eyes and a heart kiss. He loved when you sent him pics, and felt that would work.

Putting his phone to the side, he pulled the laptop to him and opened it, not giving up just yet.

* * *

Sam had texted Dean to get online to chat about a case, and you’d come in not too long after asking about dinner. He suggested a simple chicken dish, knowing that’s what you preferred to cook, and you’d found this chicken sausage that you thought he would like. You’d quickly agreed, and he’d gone back to talking to Sam.

Before he knew it, you were putting the plate by him. He nodded his thanks, and went back to typing to Sam, wanting Sam to get the case done. People were dropping way too quick. “Did you use that new chicken sausage we bought?” He asked.

“Oh, I honestly completely forgot about it. I used those Tyson chicken strips.” You told him softly.

Dean sighed. “Not like I wanted those damn sausages tonight or anything.” He mumbled. It was more to himself than anything, but wasn’t stupid. You knew that you’d take it personally, and being all feely wasn’t him. Never had been. It would blow over. It always had.

* * *

“Babe?” Dean called out from the hall. You came out of the bathroom in your cleaning shirt and leggings, your hair up. “When’s the last time you did dishes?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t think that they could pile up like that so fast.

You shrugged. “Last night, after dinner.” You told him.

“Really? Because it looks like you haven’t touched them in a week.” He explained why he asked, moving towards you. “But, I’m going out for a bit to get a few things. Love ya. I’ll be back.” Walking by, he pecked your lips quickly so he could get out, and get home quicker. 

“Yeah. Love you.” You sighed.


End file.
